Greater the Failure, Greater the Reaction
by theatricGodhead
Summary: She wasn't a leader of a rebellion against a mind-bending monarch. She wasn't best-selling author of a book about wizard and warlocks. She wasn't a calm, meticulous lady. She was a corpse buried in the ground or tossed in a river or left to rot in the middle of the woods. Dead. Is that really all she was to him now? Slight AU, SawDave if you squint.


Dave Strider felt like there was nothing left to live for.

The blonde sat in his room, staring into the darkness as thick as velvet. His eyelids were as heavy as lead balloons, but sleep just wouldn't come to him, like it was water and he was poor Tantalus. It wasn't due to his schedule, no– he'd finally gotten yourself back into the habit of passing out around one or two– it was the rumour he'd heard weeks before that he'd never chosen to accept. But time had passed, and he had no choice but to believe her fate.

Dead. Is that all she was now?

It's what he'd decided to believe. She wasn't a leader of a rebellion against a mind-bending monarch. She wasn't best-selling author of a book about wizard and warlocks. She wasn't a calm, meticulous lady. She was a corpse buried in the ground or tossed in a river or left to rot in the middle of the woods.

Nothing more.

And that's one of the things that hurt him the most.

The other was that he was alone. In reality, Dave had his brother, along with two boys (young men? It was impossible to tell at times) he'd helped off the street, but in his head, there was nobody. Just writhing, pitch shadows to call friends, with him sitting at the very centre of them, glaring out with hatred in the embers he called eyes. It was suffocating, to say the least.

But nobody cared for a rich man's pain, did they? Most would claim he deserved it, that it was what the director got for not sharing your wealth. Even if he was on the higher end of the social ladder, he was still human, crippled by emotions just the same as any other person. He still felt joy, sorrow, failure, but all the camera shows is success. Nobody would expect him to be shattered like this. Of course, he would never let them see it, either. He'd go insane with sorrow tonight, and tomorrow he'd be back in front of the camera, acting just as cool and collected as always.

Behind that calm guise, though, was a man with fear stabbed deep within his heart. Life was moving in a linear fashion, with definite beginning and ending points, and no matter what, he wouldn't be able to change it. But he still wanted a little warning before something like that happened to someone like her, or even worse, to himself.

The only thing he could think to do was hold the close people closer, attempt to prevent a fate such as that for them. Another event such as this could send him over the edge, into a tempest of who-knows-what.

He closed his eyes and bit his lip, observing the darkness within himself. It was the same as before but also different– the once-writhing shadows were now dormant, watching, waiting for the right time to strike. He turned your head side-to-side, and sure enough, the sooty creatures were there too. The fire-eyed man swore he could almost hear one of them snarl before a light illuminated his vision, turning the blackness to a dull grey, banishing most of the demons back to the realm of night they came from.

Reopening his eyes, he looked over to the source of the light, a dim lamp, and the person who had turned it on, a tanned, thin-but-muscular brunette. A voice, softer and calmer than he'd ever expect from someone like him, asked, "You alright, Dave?"

"Yeah, I..." He hesitated, wondering whether he should tell him the truth or lie and not worry him. Choosing the second, he swallowed down your emotions and nodded. "I'm fine."

The Hispanic paused as he looked over the blonde, brows furrowing with worry, but he didn't say anything, just nodded and laid back down, switching off the light. Dave continued to sit just as he had before, watching the demons dance again, and after a while, Stephen's voice broke the silence. "You know, it was rude of me to not say thanks for... for all this."

Muttering, "You're fine," the Strider laid down, facing the wall, staring out into the icy emptiness.

"No, I mean it."

"Shut up and go to sleep."

After a few seconds, the Hispanic replied, "Whatever you say," sarcasm and what seemed like a slight bit of amusement lacing his voice. For some reason, it gave Dave a little hope for what was to come. It made him decide to keep his head up, to smile, to work with what he had and wish for a better future.

It was all he could do.


End file.
